In the Hands of Her Desire

[happystrife]

also if you want guide the story in any way please send me DMs and I will try to tailor the story accordingly

Don’t f this story up trying to solve for other people’s input. You can always do a rewrite. Stay focused. your brain is where the magic happens. Fantastic story. Super real.

[chastity_boi]

Part 34: The Awakening

Claire didn’t return until nearly five.

The late afternoon light stretched long across the apartment. Elliot had stopped checking the clock hours ago, unable to endure the way each minute dragged like an endless agony. He sat at the kitchen table, untouched coffee cold at his side, heart hammering in anticipation and dread.

When the door finally opened, he froze.

Her heels made a soft, broken rhythm across the hallway floor as the front door clicked shut behind her.

Looking up as she entered, his breath caught. He turned.

When she had left she looked like a vision. Now she looked… exhausted. Beautifully, irrevocably ruined. Her makeup was gone. Her mascara had long since wept away. Her hair, usually so controlled, fell in wild, tangled waves around her shoulders. The dress — the one he’d zipped up for her with trembling hands — was bunched around her thighs, wrinkled, stretched, damp in places that made his stomach twist.

She didn’t say anything at first. She just looked at him. Then smiled faintly. A slow, haunted smile. The smile of a woman who had gone somewhere holy and obscene and come back drenched in sin. Like someone returning from another life.

“Hey,” she said, her voice hoarse.

Their eyes met.

Elliot’s mouth went dry. He stood, legs numb. “Claire…”

She walked towards him with a slowness that was deliberate — not seductive, but tentative. Her movements betrayed a deep soreness, each step a reminder of what Jordan had done to her. How thoroughly he had claimed her. And with each shift, the air filled with the scent of sex.

She stood in front of him, smiling affectionately but still some how detatched.

“Hey, love,” she murmured, her voice tired but wrapped in affection. “How are you holding up?”

Her voice was soft, almost tender, but carried the edge of something else — something Elliot couldn’t name - a rawness.

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know where to look. His wife — his everything — was no longer just his. He couldn’t answer. The truth was — he wasn’t holding up at all.

She stopped inches from him, eyes half-lidded, unreadable. Her lips parted like she might speak — then she just reached out and touched his chest.

“Take me to bed,” she murmured.

He blinked, unsure. “I — should I — do you want—?”

“Not like that,” she breathed. Her smile was fueled by exhaustion and torn. “I couldn’t take you if I tried. He made sure of that. I’m wrecked, Elliot. Thoroughly. He didn’t leave anything for you.”

The words hit like a slap. But she didn’t say them to be cruel. She said them like confession.

She turned and began to walk, slowly, toward the bedroom. He followed — drawn, broken, mesmerized.

They sat together on the edge of the bed. She winced as she lowered herself gingerly, body folding inward with fatigue and bruised submission. She curled her legs up, rested her head on Elliot’s shoulder.

The smell of her hit him again — Jordan’s scent. It clung to her skin, her hair, her thighs. She hadn’t washed. Hadn’t even wiped. She was still wet between her legs, glistening faintly where her dress clung to her.

She wanted him to see it.

To smell it. To know.

“I need you to listen,” she said softly. “And not interrupt.”

He nodded.

Claire closed her eyes. “I didn’t just fuck him last night,” she whispered. “I gave myself to him. Entirely. Over and over again. I stopped counting after the fourth time he came inside me. Every position. Every hole. Every filthy thing I used to be afraid to even say — he took it from me. Made me beg for more.”

“I begged, Elliot. Not just for release. I begged for more. For him to never stop. I came so hard I screamed. I cried. I drooled. He made me forget who I was. And I loved it. I needed it. He didn’t just own my body last night. He remade it. Stamped himself into me.”

She swallowed, her voice cracking with exhaustion.

“My throat’s sore, Elliot. My ass is ruined. He used me until I was raw. And I begged him not to stop. Even when I couldn’t take anymore, I wanted more. Because with him, I don't feel like a wife playing a role. I feel free. I told him everything. About us. About what I used to be. About what I wanted to become. About my fantasies. About your fantasies. About how badly I needed to be taken. Owned. Fucked until I forgot who I was. And he gave it to me. All of it.”

Elliot’s breath caught as his body trembled.

“I still love you, I’m still your wife,” Claire said gently, reaching for his hand. “That hasn’t changed. I love you so much. But we are not going back to what we were. That life, that version of us — it’s gone. I’ve discovered a part of myself that can’t be buried again. And I need you to accept it. To face it with me. Our relationship is evolving. Fundamentally. Permanently. I'm still yours but not sexually. Not like we were before. He told me I belong to him. And I said yes. I meant it.”

His face burned. His hands trembled. He felt like a parody of a man.

“You once asked me to be bold. To live the fantasies we whispered in the dark. You begged for your undoing. And now it’s real. Jordan is my lover. I want him as my primary partner. The man who owns me in the bedroom. And I need that. I crave it. But I still need you too — only differently.”

Elliot’s chest tightened. His world tilted. She squeezed his fingers. Despite everything Elliot felt strangely reassured.

“You begged for this, asked me to take control. To be everything you dreamed of. To humiliate you. To cuckold you. The denial. The surrender. And now I’m ready to do that — fully. Not in fantasy. Not in whispers. In life. I want to give myself to him, utterly. I want to be his. But I also want you to be part of this with me. Not to be cast aside — but to evolve. I will still make love to you. But it will be a different kind of loving - a different kind of sex. On my terms. When I need it. You’ll know the difference. You’ll feel how he’s changed me — how I’ve changed. You’ll never enter me without knowing who was there before you. I’ll still come back to you. Still be yours emotionally." She looked him in the eyes, firm and clear. “There’ll be no illusions left. I won’t let you pretend you’re my equal in bed. You’ll fuck me, yes — but you’ll do it knowing you’re not the first choice. That Jordan is. That he’s the one I crave. You’ll take what I allow. Nothing more. But this isn’t a game, Elliot. It’s not pretend. It’s real. And if you stay — if you choose this — you’ll get everything you ever dreamed of. But it will cost you.”

He swallowed hard. “My pride?”

She nodded. “And your illusions. Your ego. Your idea of what being a man in this marriage means. You’ll suffer. You’ll ache. You’ll be pushed. But if you accept it… you’ll be free.”

His voice shook. “Will it ever stop hurting?”

She leaned in, pressing her forehead to his. “No and... that’s the point. The ache is what binds you to me now. The ache is proof that you love me enough to let me go — and be here waiting for me when I return.”

Her eyes sought out Elliot with a new intensity, glistening with exhaustion and something deeper.

“You may never get to fuck me again like you used to. You may not hold me like a man holds his woman. But you’ll still be mine. Mine in a way no man would ever understand. And you’ll grow. You’ll suffer. And you’ll rise through it.”

He trembled. “I don’t think I can…”

“You can,” she said. “Because you already have. You’ve lived through every night I was in his arms. And now you’ll live through something greater. You’ll see me choose him. Love him in a way that makes me more — makes me alive. And you’ll know it’s because of you. Because you gave me the freedom to become this.”

He sobbed — and smiled. “I want that. God help me, Claire, I want that.”

She kissed his forehead, gentle and reverent. “Then this is our truth now. You’re my cuckold. I’ll always love you — but I'm Jordan's woman now. And I want you to understand what that means.”

Claire’s tone shifted, not cruel but unrelenting. Her eyes were clear.

“I need you to hear something, Elliot. Really hear it. Because this — this is the hardest truth. The one I’ve kept from you until now.”

He looked up, barely able to meet her gaze.

“You don’t compare to him. Not physically. Not sexually. Not in how he makes me feel.”

Elliot flinched, a low sound escaping his throat.

“I’m not saying that to hurt you. I’m saying it to free you. Because some part of you still holds on to the illusion that I might be exaggerating. That maybe, in time, you’ll measure up. But you won’t. You can’t.”

She let that settle. He didn’t interrupt.

“When he’s inside me, Elliot — it’s not just bigger. It’s deeper. Fuller. I feel stretched, filled in a way you never managed, even on our best days. My whole body reacts differently to him. My legs tremble. My voice breaks. I get wet just hearing his footsteps in the hall.”

She said it like fact. Cold. Inarguable.

“He touches parts of me you never reached. He fucks me like he owns me — because he does. And I want it that way. With you, it was always love first, sex second. With him, it’s instinct. It’s primal. He doesn’t ask. He takes. And I give — because my body wants to be taken.”

Elliot stared down at the sheets, face flushed, jaw clenched. His arousal was unbearable.

Claire continued, relentless now.

“He fucked me in ways you never have. Never could. He took my ass, again. He made me clean him off with my tongue. He slapped me when I hesitated. He praised me when I gave in. And I gave in, Elliot. I broke. And I liked it. I scream for him in ways I never did for you. I sob when he leaves me empty. I beg him not to stop. And when he finishes inside me, I lie there shaking, knowing I’ve just been marked by a superior man.”

She moved closer, her voice lowering.

“With you, it was sweet. Safe. But I never needed you like I need him. You never made me forget myself. He fucks the woman out of me and leaves behind something raw.”

Elliot shook, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. She gently wiped one away.”

A whimper escaped him. She leaned in, kissing his cheek. She placed her hand on Elliot’s chest, feeling his heartbeat stutter.

“You won’t touch me again unless Jordan allows it. You won’t taste me unless he gives me to you. You will evolve as you find your new place in our relationship Elliot. And despite everything I do... you will still love me after I have given myself and returned to you. That will be your place now.”

She reached down and gently cupped the bulge in his pants. He was achingly hard. He groaned, the pain and arousal indistinguishable.

“And this?” she whispered. “This is what makes you what you are. My cuckold. My sweet, broken husband. This is the truth you asked for. This is the pain you wanted. Because now you know what you are to me. And it’s only from that place that you can worship me properly.”

He groaned, shame crashing against desire.

“Say it. Tell me what you are.”

“I’m your cuckold,” he gasped.

She smiled and brushed her lips against his ear.

“If you want out, say so now. We can stop. Pretend. Go back. But now you know.”

He looked at her and saw everything — love, fire, joy, purpose.

“I want this,” he whispered. “Even if it breaks me.”

She smiled tenderly. “So do I Elliot. Our new life. Our new reality. No more fantasies. No more maybes. I’ve been taken. And you watched it happen. You gave me away. Jordan wants to know what it feels like to own another man's wife fully,” she said. “And I want to give that to him. Everything. Every surrender. You’ll witness it all — if you're good.”

Tears spilled from his eyes.

“And if I say no?” he asked, voice shaking.

“You won’t,” she said. “Because this is what you need. You’ve lost me, and I’m right here. And you’ll thank me,” she added. “Like my good little husband.”

He nodded slowly, broken.

“Thank you Claire,” he whispered.

Her expression softened.

She rose slowly, stretching, her dress slipping from one shoulder.

She turned to him, eyes soft, almost maternal.

“Get used to the ache, Elliot. It’s the only part of me you still get to keep.”

She paused in the doorway, looking back once.

“Jordan’s not done with me,” she added. “He has plans. For both of us.”

The door closed. And Elliot collapsed back on the bed - And then she was gone.

Leaving him breathless.

Hard.

Shamed.

And utterly, painfully, hers.

helplessly emasculated.

And wide awake in the life he’d begged for.

[happystrife]

Excited for the next installment!

[bewareoflizzy]

Incredible writing. You are the master of the "slow burn"!

[happystrife]

I’ve never read a progression story quite like this one, although it’s exactly the type of story I’m always hoping to find.

Where have you drawn your inspiration chastity boi lol your handle.

[chastity_boi]

Part 35: Served and Denied

It all happened within a month.

Three and a half, maybe four weeks.

The transformation was swift, yet subtle. Like the tide going out, unnoticed until the shore lay bare. A silent, elegant shift into something more dangerous. Claire didn’t announce it. She didn’t have to. It revealed itself in the way she moved. The way she dressed. The way she began to vanish, piece by piece, from the marriage they once shared — until Claire no longer belonged to Elliot in any of the ways that mattered.

Claire didn’t just start sleeping with Jordan — she started belonging to him.

It wasn't obvious initially, but Claire was changing. She simply began to live differently. It wasn’t just the sex, though there was more of that than ever. It was the way she disappeared into his world.

At first, it was just time.

The way she smiled at messages she never showed Elliot. The way she excused herself mid-dinner to go speak with her “boyfriend,” and returned with her cheeks flushed, pupils dilated, like she'd just been touched. But the most painful change was how often she was gone. A few hours here and there. Then consecutive nights. Then full nights. Then whole weekends.

“He wants me around more,” she said one morning, brushing her hair in the mirror. “His friends love me.”

She smiled at Elliot through the reflection.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

He couldn’t speak. She didn’t need him to. More nights spent downstairs. More mornings when she didn’t return until after sunrise. Her reasons became casual.

“He cooked dinner. We opened a bottle of wine. One thing led to another…”

“He didn’t want me to leave. And I didn’t want to either.”

Then the clothes followed. She started dressing differently. Nothing dramatic at first. Black bras that peeked from under loose tanks. Lip gloss always a little too shiny. Skirts with slits high enough to make Elliot stare — and she noticed. Not a huge change but no longer safe and choices Elliot knew she wouldn’t have made a few months or even weeks ago.

But the biggest change came on the nights she went out. When she dressed for Jordan, it wasn’t for love or romance.

She dressed for sex.

Tight skirts that clung to her hips like a secret. Necklines that demanded stares. Stockings with seams up the back. Heels that reshaped her legs into something pornographic. Even her perfume changed — no longer citrus and sweet, but something darker. Carnal. Predatory. It clung to their sheets long after she left.

She no longer smelled like a wife.

She smelled like she belonged to someone else.

Within weeks, her panties disappeared entirely.

“He prefers easy access,” she told Elliot one night, bending to pull on thigh-highs, giving him a view that hurt. “And I like feeling available to him.”

He blushed. She smirked. And he felt smaller still.

It didn’t happen all at once, but in waves — each one stronger than the last. By the time Elliot fully noticed, it was undeniable.

Claire never rushed when she left for Jordan. She lingered in front of the mirror. Took her time with her makeup — not for Elliot’s benefit, though sometimes it felt like she was performing for him too. Lotion. Lingerie. Lipstick. Each ritualized step a provocation.

He watched her get ready with the same diligence she might’ve once reserved for her wedding day. Only now, it was for another man. His wife, slowly becoming someone else’s sexual fantasy — right before his eyes.

“Do you like this color?” she’d ask, painting her lips in deep, obscene red.

He’d nod, swallowing hard. “You look beautiful.”

She'd smile at him sweetly, with a tilt of her head that was just a little cruel — soft, but sharp at the edges. “Jordan thinks so too. He loves when I wear red. Says it looks slutty. Says it looks hot around his cock.”

Then she’d kiss Elliot on the cheek and leave.

They were still in love. That part hadn’t changed. She still curled into him on the couch on the nights when she was home. Still reached for his hand. Still whispered his name with warmth. But everything else was different now.

Sex between Claire and Elliot hadn’t ended so much as… withered. reduced to something occasional. Not completely gone, but altered and always on her terms.

There were rare nights she would lie beside him and take his hand, guiding it between her thighs. Sometimes she was wet from Jordan. Sometimes she wasn’t.

On fewer nights still, she let him inside her. But it was no longer lovemaking. It was permission. Claire would lie back and let him thrust — desperate, needy. And when he came — too fast, always too fast — it always seemed like she was doing him a favor. A sigh. A polite murmur of encouragement. As if she were letting him finish a task he’d been assigned.

Mostly, Elliot was allowed to masturbate.

That was how Claire fed him now. With words, not her body.

He would lie in bed, hard and aching, while she sat above him, unattainable, obscene and seductive, recounting what she and Jordan had done to each other. She would give gentle words of encouragement as Elliot brought himself to orgasm, shamefully bucking into his own fist at the thought of his wife's debauchery.

Claire would smile, condescendingly.

These confessionals from Claire made up the majority of his sex life now — unfulfilling, aching, and desperate, while Claire relived the memories of a man she couldn’t get enough of.

Sometimes, if he begged, she’d let him hump her leg while she scrolled on her phone. If he was lucky, she'd give him a lazy handjob — quick, functional, impersonal.

But with Jordan…

It was different. Constant. Relentless.

Jordan gave her something Elliot never had. Passion without restraint. Dominance. Lust without compromise.

With Jordan, she was free.

With Elliot, she was careful. Kind. Measured.

She loved him — but she no longer craved him. She didn’t surrender to him. She didn’t belong to him.

She belonged to Jordan.

And she never let Elliot forget it.

One evening, as she got ready for what she casually called "a night in with my boyfriend," she emerged from the closet wearing a black slip dress so short it looked like a dare. No bra. Sheer black stockings. Her nipples hardened beneath the thin silk.

“Be honest,” she said, twirling in front of him. “Do I look like a good girlfriend? or a hot wife?”

Elliot sat on the edge of the bed, hard and breathless. “You look like… you look incredible.”

Claire pouted. “Jordan told me to come over but to make sure I was ready for him. You think I'm ready?”

She took his hand and placed it between her thighs staring him straight in the eye and smiling. He felt it — the slick wetness of her cunt. She wasn’t teasing. She was already leaking, obscenely, before she had even gone to her lover. Soaked just at the thought of what was to come.

He reached for her, unable to help himself. Hungry for more.

She caught his wrist gently.

“Ah-ah,” she said softly, brushing his hand away, "that isn't for you anymore."

His heart pounded.

“Can I touch you?” he whispered.

Claire glanced at him in the mirror. Her expression was soft, but edged with amusement.

“No,” she said gently. “Not tonight.”

He hesitated. “Why not?”

"You gave that away. Remember?"

She stepped forward, kissed his cheek, and ran her fingers lightly down his chest. “And you like it this way, don’t you? Watching me become his.”

He couldn’t answer. Didn't need to. His body betrayed him.

“I’ll be back late. Be a good boy.”

She always came back late now.

Hair tangled. Makeup smudged. The scent of sex and another man lingering on her skin. She didn’t undress right away. Sometimes she climbed into bed still dressed, letting him feel the damp between her thighs. Letting him know what had just happened, and lay with her head on his chest.

One night she woke Elliot at 2 a.m. crawling into bed beside him. Wearing Jordan’s oversized shirt. Her thighs were still slick. Her skin still marked. Her lipstick long since smeared across another man’s cock.

He reached for her in half-sleep.

She stopped him gently.

“Want to know what he did tonight?” she whispered, almost conspiratorially.

Elliot nodded.

“He fucked me in the elevator,” she whispered, a giggle in her throat. “Said he couldn’t wait. Entered me against the mirror in there. Hope no-one reviews the security footage from tonight. What do you think of that, my sweet husband?”

He moaned, ashamed and aroused.

She kissed his temple, then turned over falling asleep.

Leaving him hard and alone with the image.

Whenever she was in the apartment it seemed like she was constantly teasing him. Changing in front of him. Walking around in lingerie. Letting the towel drop. Letting him see the marks. The bruises. The glow of being owned.

She didn’t cover up anymore.

But she didn’t let him touch either. Only very rarely.

One Saturday morning, he walked in just as she stepped out of the shower. Her body glistened, a towel loose at her hips. She caught him staring at her body in the steamy mirror.

"Eyes up, mister," she teased drying her breasts with the towel. “Like what you see?”

He nodded, breathless.

She smiled. “Jordan does too. Except he gets to touch. You just get to look.”

She laughed.

Another night, Claire returned late. Fresh from Jordan’s bed.

She was flushed, radiant. Hair tousled. Lips swollen. Stockings still clinging to her thighs. Her body smelled like sex and sweat. She climbed into Elliot’s lap, arms around his neck, lowering herself just enough to grind against him — her slick pussy lips barely caressing the weeping head of his neglected cock - but never enough to let him inside. She kissed his cheek.

"Miss me?"

He nodded. She moved close, teasing his lips with hers but never going further.

"He made me scream tonight. He fucked me raw,” she whispered. “Came in me twice.”

Elliot groaned, his hands trembling where they rested on her waist.

“I still feel him inside me,” she added, her voice low and cruelly sweet. “You want to feel it too? Want to kiss it from me?”

He nodded, breath ragged.

She let Elliot go down on her.

Not to pleasure her.

To clean her.

He was left breathless, erect, devastated.

But it was never about cruelty.

Not really.

Claire still loved him. That never changed. But the way she showed it had become something else. She kissed his forehead when he cried from the frustration of denial. Held him when his body shook from being so close — yet untouched. Whispered that he was hers — even as she gave her body to someone else - but she never let him forget who he was now. What they were now.

“You asked for this,” she’d remind him. “And I’m giving you everything you asked for.”

She gave Jordan her body. Her moans. Her surrender.

To Elliot, she gave something else, just as intimate:

The denial. The longing. The slow-burning humiliation he had always fantasized about but never truly understood — until now.

He had everything he’d asked for.

And it was so much more than he could have imagined.

But what he didn’t anticipate was how much more she’d become — and how little of her would be left for him.

Then just as Elliot was adjusting to his new reality - she stopped coming home.

The first time Claire texted at 12:38 a.m.

“Spending the night. Don’t wait up. Be a good boy for me. X”

He stared at the screen, reread the message, then dropped the phone on the bed like it burned.

She didn’t return until mid-morning. Still in the clothes she’d left in — creased and half-buttoned, her hair in a messy bun, makeup smudged from the night before. She smelled unmistakably of sweat and sex. Unwashed. Unapologetic.

When she walked into the kitchen, Elliot was already there, silent over his coffee.

Claire leaned in, kissed his cheek.

"Morning," she said casually, like she hadn’t just spent the night in another man’s bed. "Did you miss me?"

He nodded, his throat too tight to speak.

Their Thursday date night was sacred. A tradition. Elliot would cook dinner with wine. A small anchor in their marriage.

That week, Claire didn’t show.

Elliot had the table set. Candles flickering. Her favorite wine breathing in its glass.

She walked in at nine, laughing into her phone, wearing a short red dress he’d never seen before. Her lipstick was smeared. Her hair, tousled. She smelled like bourbon and someone else’s cum.

“Babe,” she said, startled. “Shit — I thought I told you. Jordan’s boy got promoted. We went out.”

She glanced at the untouched food, the flickering candles.

“Oops.”

Elliot stared at the food, cooling untouched.

Claire stepped forward, kissed his cheek.

“You’re sweet for trying.”

Then vanished into the shower to wash another man off her skin.

At first, it was just dinner and drinks. Then clubs. Pool parties. Late nights that turned into overnights. Then weekends. Then came the photos.

One afternoon, Elliot received a message: Claire in a string bikini, lounging across Jordan’s lap, smiling lazily while two of his friends stood behind her.

The caption was simple: “Good girl energy ”

Elliot stared at it for hours.

She came home sunburnt, smelling of liquor and sex. Her bikini top missing. She was barefoot, her thighs blotched with bruises.

“Jordan kept me busy,” she said, yawning.

The messages escalated.

“Thought you’d like this. Your wife, about 30 seconds after she told me she loves it rough.”

Attached: Claire on her knees. Lipstick ruined. Mascara streaked. Cum glistening on her lips. Eyes closed. Blissed out.

Elliot stared at the image for hours.

More followed.

Short videos. Images. Snapshots of her descent — and Jordan’s conquest. All from Jordan.

Claire sprawled across a hotel bed, legs open, moaning.

Claire bent over a couch, ass red from spanking.

Claire riding him, panting, saying, “Fuck yes. Harder, Daddy, don’t stop—”

Every message ended the same way:

“Thanks for sharing her.”

Then the calls started.

Late. Always past midnight. The first came just as he was drifting off.

Claire’s name.

He answered, groggy. “Hello?”

Her voice was breathless, giggling.

“Hey, baby. Just wanted to let you know I’m not coming home tonight.”

He sat up, heart pounding. “Where are you?”

“Mmm, you know where,” she murmured. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he whispered.

He could hear moaning in the background. Slapping skin. Deep, rhythmic grunts.

“Wanted to let you know... I won’t be home again tonight.”

He swallowed.

“I—I figured. Are you—?”

“Yes,” she whispered, breath hitching. “He’s inside me. Right now. Deep.”

Elliot’s breath caught. He listened.

Jordan’s voice rumbled in the background, calm and firm. “Tell your husband how many times you’ve come.”

Claire giggled.

“Three so far. And I’m not done yet.”

Jordan’s voice came again. “Say it. Tell him.”

“He’s making me beg for it. I’m being fucked, sweetheart. Really, really hard. Wanna listen?”

The phone shifted.

Then the wet slap of skin on skin as Jordan picked up the pace. Claire gasping. Crying out. Trembling, building to a crescendo.

Then Claire again, panting now, her voice strained.

“Can you hear it? Can you hear how wet I am for him?”

Elliot said nothing. Could say nothing.

“God, baby,” she breathed once, “he’s still going. This is your treat,” she whispered. “Because you’ve been such a good husband. Touch yourself for me while Jordan fucks your wife.”

And he did.

Stroking himself in the dark, aching as Claire moaned Jordan’s name — again and again.

He came, alone, in the dark, weeping. But he listened. Every second. Until the line went dead.

By the end of the month, the calls became ritual.

Sometimes Claire called him mid-fuck, laughing as Jordan pounded her.

Sometimes she made Elliot beg to listen.

Sometimes she asked Elliot questions or tried to have a normal conversation as Jordan ploughed her without mercy.

Jordan didn’t stay silent, either.

He sent photos. Videos. Claire in every filthy position. On her knees. Back arched. Eyes wild. Covered in his cum.

Sometimes Claire recorded herself — POV from Jordan’s lap, riding him slowly, whispering:

“He fucks me like a real man, Elliot. You can’t even pretend to compete.”

She weaponized intimacy — her voice, her moans, the sound of skin on skin — to reduce Elliot to nothing but a desperate, aroused wreck.

And he loved her for it.

Their lives split like a fracture. Parallel paths. Diverging truths.

But it wasn't just about sex anymore.

Claire belonged to Jordan now. She went to dinners with his friends. Shared jokes. Took his hand in public.

They were a couple.

Real.

As the weeks passed, Jordan began picking her up himself.

He’d knock on the door, cocky, victorious. Claire would emerge from the bedroom in a tight black dress, heels high, perfume heavy. Jordan would grin at Elliot, sometimes clap him on the shoulder.

“Appreciate you lending her out again.”

Then he’d take her.

And Elliot would be left with silence and wine that had long since lost its warmth.

Sometimes she came home.

More often, she didn’t.

She started keeping some of her things at Jordan’s. A toothbrush. Makeup. A spare bra. Then more.

One night, Elliot opened her drawer.

Half her lingerie was gone.

Claire saw him staring.

“I don’t need to keep everything here,” she said. “It’s not like I wear those for you anymore.”

He sat down, hollowed.

She joined him. Sat beside him. Touched his face.

“You’re still mine, darling. Just in a different way.”

And he was.

Everything he’d fantasized.

Everything he’d asked for.

And it was more than he could bear.

A cuckold.

Finally living his truth.

[subtoall]

Fantastic. I love how Jordan plays it too.

[chastity_boi]

Again thanks to everyone for the great comments. Don't worry. Asking for ideas will not dilute anything. I will only use those that are appropriate for the story. TBH I've got 91 chapters drafted and I'm working through, re-editing- tweaking - and rewriting each chapter as I post so any dilution to the original storyline will be way down the line and will only go through my interpretation. But honestly I do really appreciate the comments - good and bad. I'm trying to make this as slow a burn as possible and to happystrife that is exactly why I'm writing it, because I want to read the same thing as you.

[chastity_boi]

btw happystrife most of this is based on truth

[Johng1953]

This chapter reads like the end. I'm glad it's not and am looking forward to how you continue to develop it.

[gamaster]

You have 91 chapters in draft?!!!! That's incredible and prolific. Very happy that this work will continue far into the future. Once again, the writing is so clean, the characters relatable, and the storyline immersive. Thank you for writing and sharing with us.

[thesvs_09]

This is excellent writing. Last chapter felt like an epilogue of sorts. Happy to know we are not even half mark yet! Boy, it is going to be hell of a ride. Keep it up. And post more, post fast. Waiting!

[happystrife]

Thanks for the update, feedback, and latest chapter! I’m loving this story. I had a much younger fiancé for which this was the progression, it’s primal and inevitable if and when the circumstances are right, like in your story.

[happystrife]

Can we get another chapter today for some Friday reading?

[happystrife]

Question is does this stay real or does the arc have to include fantasy elements eg feminization or forced bi etc to make it through 90 chapters. I’m curious to see where you take it.

[happystrife]

One thing for sure, Jordan becomes increasingly territorial I’m guessing.

[chastity_boi]

Again thanks for the comments. Following on from the observations here, if this was in print it would probably be a good ending for book one. So let's unofficially call it that. And to calm any fears, over everything I have drafted so far things certainly get more extreme, though Elliot doesn't end up being led around in heels at a fetish club as Claire services 100 BBC's at the glory hole. It's definitely more slow build up and psychological and hopefully still entertaining. Trying to get another chapter out for you but reading the next part back it's more like 2 chapters and I'm not quite happy with the direction given the changes that had been made to the previous parts that I've rewritten here, but I'll do my best, if not today then over the weekend.

[Mfair65]

Such a great story, encompassing every element that makes this kink so irresistible. Hoping Claire develops strong feelings of genuine love for Jordan, sharing that information with her hubby and also removing her wedding ring, or having Jordan remove it in front of Elliott on a regular basis.

[happystrife]

Fork 1: Realism maintained
What Happens (Realistically)
Claire slowly detaches from Elliot emotionally and logistically, but still shows compassion. Jordan becomes more territorial. He’s no longer just the lover; he starts planning a life with Claire. Elliot spirals, but not in a sensational way. He gets darker, quieter, more inward. He might develop some obsessional behavior. outwardly he maintains dignity.

Eventually, the distance becomes too much. Claire leaves. Elliot collapses.

The arc becomes psychological: grief, emasculation, shame, regret. Ends in bleak realism. Elliot finds his own path, or… chooses subjugation voluntarily.

Sad stuff. 50 chapters max before you gotta end it.

Fork 2: Erotic Escalation
What Happens (Erotic, Still Semi-Realistic)
Jordan and Claire become intoxicated by their power and dynamic. They slowly bring Elliot into deeper submission—not necessarily through cruelty but through seduction, control, and intimacy.

It starts with teasing, light humiliation, and voyeurism. Then gradually:
- Claire might make Elliot watch, serve drinks, or hold her legs while Jordan takes her.
- Jordan pushes boundaries—mocking, owning, asserting.

Over time, Elliot internalizes his status as a cuckold or submissive—not joyfully, but as an inevitability. This could be fertile ground for writing if you keep the emotional tone grounded.

It’s not “wholesome,” but it’s not necessarily campy either. It’s ritualistic degradation as power-play—erotica rooted in realism.

Exciting, real. 80–90 chapters, as the tension ratchets and the emotional stakes deepen.

Fork 3: Full Genre-Fantasy (Feminization / Forced-Bi)
What Happens (Fantasy/Dom-Erotica)

Claire and Jordan, now fully bonded, treat Elliot as a plaything. Their dynamic becomes less emotional, more symbolic:
- Claire feminizes Elliot: lingerie, chastity, pet names.
- Jordan initiates bi/humiliation play, possibly taking him to clubs.
- “Service” becomes the cornerstone: Elliot lives to please them, has no identity outside of that.

This version departs from realism. It becomes more like a ritual or kinkverse where the characters operate in a heightened space of taboo and power.

The tone shifts: you’re no longer writing an affair, but a long-form BDSM/fetish novel.

This can go the full 90 chapters easily, but it’s no longer an emotionally organic story. It’s “addictive” the way drugs are: no longer sustainable, but compulsively readable.

So… What Would Actually Happen IRL?

Based on the characters as written:
- Claire is done with the “mothering the sensitive man” role. She’s starved for boldness, and Jordan represents her ideal masculine polarity.
- Jordan thrives on dominance but started out as seductive and respectful. Over time, his territoriality grows—but he values control over chaos. He wouldn’t naturally go “camp,” but would enjoy wielding total dominance.
- Elliot is not built for this psychologically. If pushed too far into humiliation territory, he either:
• Snaps and leaves (if he has ego left), or
• Disassociates and becomes a shell of a man, possibly leading to mental collapse.

So IRL, the likeliest scenario is:
- Claire leaves.
- Jordan and Claire become a “power couple,” sexually intense and publicly magnetic.
- Elliot crashes and burns for a while. Maybe he writes a book. Maybe he disappears. Maybe he seeks out therapy—or darker forms of validation.


Recommendation for Reaching 90 Chapters

If you want to keep the arc alive without jumping the shark:
- Let Claire’s empowerment be the main throughline.
- Let Jordan slowly evolve from lover → partner → dominant life architect.
- Let Elliot go through full emotional degradation—not just physical submission—but find poetry in it.
- Introduce new characters: other women, past lovers, a mentor for Elliot, someone that threatens Claire’s grip

Final Thought

Right now, you’re still in a deliciously grounded place. Claire and Jordan are magnetic, real, and alive. If you go the fantasy route, do it intentionally—with full awareness that you’re crossing a line from “could happen” to “deep kink.” That shift can be powerful, but it must be earned—not defaulted into just to stretch the arc.

[happystrife]

It’s about anchoring into Jordan as her chosen center of gravity. It’s about belonging.

Not dominance. Not submission.

Devotion.

She’d chosen to fall in line behind him—not because she was weak, but because he was strong in a way she trusted. The kind of man she could hand the reins to and not feel smaller for it.

Trust as the Precursor to Devotion

She’s devoting herself because she feels psychologically safe with Jordan—not merely physically protected, but emotionally understood and held.

She’s not giving up her identity; she’s placing it in orbit around someone who’s earned her respect.

Biological & Evolutionary Wiring: Mating Strategy Compatibility
From a biological standpoint, humans (especially women in reproductive age) have complex mating instincts—one of the strongest is the unconscious drive to identify a worthy protector-provider or, more broadly, a mate who ensures stability and survival for her and potential offspring.

Claire’s decision to center her gravity around Jordan is primal. He exudes control, confidence, and capability—traits historically tied to successful male protectors and leaders. He’s not just attractive, he’s viable.

She doesn’t want to be in charge. She wants to choose a man she can trust to lead.

Jordan, in this scenario, has passed that test. And once that biological box is checked, the female psyche often opens up to pair-bonding mechanisms: oxytocin bonding, emotional imprinting, and psychological anchoring.


Social & Gender Roles: Voluntary Polarity, Not Coercion

In modern relationships, especially among strong, independent women, the concept of “falling in line” behind a man often gets conflated with submission or regression. But that’s not what’s happening here.

Claire isn’t abandoning feminism—she’s enacting voluntary polarity.

She wants Jordan to lead because he’s not a tyrant or an egotist. He’s stable, composed, and deeply attuned to her. The kind of man who doesn’t need to scream to be heard.

This generates a powerful dynamic: earned leadership and elected devotion.

That dynamic is increasingly rare in modern pairings because most men aren’t strong enough to lead without controlling, and most women aren’t willing to soften unless they feel truly safe. Jordan breaks that deadlock. So Claire softens—fully.

Emotional & Symbolic Reality: The “Center of Gravity” Metaphor

The phrase “anchoring into him as her center of gravity” is beautiful because it describes something more than romantic attachment. It’s about internal reorientation.

Claire has stopped holding space in her mind for multiple outcomes. She’s no longer hedging. No more “plan B.” Her emotional compass now revolves around Jordan, and that brings clarity.

Not submission.
Not servitude.
Belonging.

She is home. And that’s a deeply satisfying, rare psychological state for someone who previously guarded herself. It’s what gives the relationship its wholeness—that mutual, quiet recognition: we’re in this.

The “Math” of Power & Devotion

The math behind this is not zero-sum. Claire is not “less” because Jordan is “more.” They both expand.
- Claire gains safety, grounding, and an organizing principle for her emotional life.
- Jordan gains loyalty, trust, and access to the full expression of Claire’s femininity—something no man before him fully unlocked.

The equation isn’t:
-Power + Devotion = Imbalance.
It’s:
-Trusted Power + Willing Devotion = Wholeness.

This Is Rare. And That’s Why It Feels So Big.
But when a woman like Claire finds a man like Jordan, and when that man respects what her devotion actually means—not as ownership, but as a gift—you get something enduring.

Claire and Jordan are walking into a dynamic that feels fated because it’s rare

[chastity_boi]

Part 36: The Guest

Claire said it simply, over coffee.

The words hit like a blade between his ribs.

“He’s coming over tonight.”

She said it with offhand grace, standing barefoot in the kitchen, sipping her coffee as though she were talking about a friend dropping by — not the man who had taken her, claimed her, and turned Elliot’s marriage into a performance of his own undoing.

Elliot swallowed. “You mean… Jordan?”

She gave him a patient, almost amused look. “Of course I mean Jordan.” Claire smiled faintly, eyes still on her coffee. “He wants to see the apartment. And me. Probably wants to mark his territory.”

Elliot blinked. "Here?"

She finally looked at him. Calm. Decided.

“Mmhmm. It’s time, don’t you think? He is my boyfriend after all. He'll be over at 8.”

That new, quiet confidence she wore so well. The kind that said she didn’t need permission — only acknowledgment.

"I want you two to get comfortable with each other," Claire said, her voice smooth, deliberate. "I've been spending a lot of time with Jordan lately — real, intimate time. And if this dynamic is going to last," she added, reaching across the table to let her fingers graze Elliot’s knuckles, "we need to understand how we fit. All three of us."

There was no cruelty in her tone — no overt teasing. Just that new, poised certainty and confidence: unapologetic and in control.

"I think this will be good for you," she said, rising slowly from her chair. She leaned down, and pressed a kiss to his forehead — affectionate, almost maternal. "A little humility… helps you remember your place."

His heart stuttered.

“I want to look perfect for him,” she added. “And you’re going to help.”

Later that morning Elliot sat silently in the chair next to her at the nail salon. His eyes cast down, while Claire picked out the color.

“Something bold,” she murmured to the technician. “Sharp. Long.” Then, glancing at Elliot, “My man loves when I scratch his back. And his chest. And sometimes… when I wrap them around his cock.”

The technician giggled politely. Elliot turned red.

She chose blood-red stilettos. Long, glistening, unmistakably dangerous. They looked like they belonged in porn.

As they dried, she toyed with her phone, tapping out a text. Elliot pretended not to peek, but the name was obvious. Jordan.

She tilted the screen just enough for him to glimpse a message:
"Can’t wait for you to see what I’m doing just for you."

Then, without looking up, she whispered, “He’s hard already.”

After a light lunch, next stop was the spa.

“I booked a wax,” she said breezily as they walked into the cool, citrus-scented spa. “Full Brazilian. You can wait in the lobby, sweetheart.”

Elliot swallowed hard. “O-okay.”

But when she emerged thirty minutes later, glowing and smug, she didn’t let him off the hook.

“Smooth,” she said, taking his hand and guiding it under her short sundress, just high enough to feel it. No panties. “You like that?”

His throat was dry. He nodded.

“Good. He’ll appreciate it more.”

And then, like it meant nothing, she released his hand and stepped out into the street like the sun belonged to her.

It was 2:47 p.m.

Jordan would arrive at 8.

More than five hours.

A lifetime.

Claire walked past him when they were back at the apartment as he prepped the ingredients for dinner. She paused only to brush her fingers under his chin — a gesture of condescending affection — and whispered, “You’ll be polite, won’t you?”

Elliot nodded, almost reflexively.

“Good boy.”

And then she disappeared into the bedroom.

The afternoon was unbearable.

Elliot tried to distract himself — he loaded the dishwasher, cleaned the living room, but Jordan and his wife in their home plagued his every thought:

Jordan on his couch. Jordan in their bed. Jordan’s hand on Claire’s throat, her leg over his shoulder, her mouth whispering things Elliot had never been allowed to hear. Jordan using her body while Elliot waited outside the bedroom like a well-trained dog. Would he be allowed to watch as Jordan staked his claim in the marital bed, or would it actually be more like being forced to bear witness.

He checked the time again.

He hated himself for the ache in his cock. The way it throbbed every time he imagined Claire whispering to Jordan.

He hated how hard he got thinking about what was coming.

Elliot’s mind spiraled.

Had they texted already? Had she sent him a photo? Was Jordan hard right now thinking about the prize he was set to devour in front of her husband.

By early evening Claire emerged from the shower in a short robe, towel-drying her hair. She looked at Elliot for a moment, then smiled. “He says he wants to see how obedient you are tonight.”

Elliot opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out.

Claire smirked. “Better start thinking about what you’ll say when he asks who I belong to.”

After pacing aimlessly around the apartment, Elliot wandered back into their bedroom to see Claire had laid out everything on the bed like it was ritual: the new black dress, the dark stockings and lace suspender belt, only a bra - no panties, the fuck me heels she had told him the Jordan liked. Her makeup spread in perfect order. Perfume bottle beside her wedding ring — which she slid off without comment.

Elliot hovered awkwardly in the doorway.

“You can watch,” she said, brushing her hair. “In fact, I want you to.”

He sat on the edge of the bed as she began to undress. Slowly. Deliberately.

She removed the robe without shame, revealing her bare, freshly waxed skin, flawless and glowing. She stood there for a moment, letting him drink in the sight of her. The curves he once thought were his alone. The body that now responded to another man.

Then she turned sensually pulling the first stocking up her leg and attaching it to the suspender at her thigh. The lace framed her smooth naked sex obscenely. She glanced over her shoulder.

“Do you think he’ll like it?”

Elliot's voice caught. “Yes.”

“I know he will.” she retorted.

She slid on the sheer black lace bra — cupping herself, lifting, adjusting, like she was practicing how she’d present herself. Then the dress. Tight. Short. A zipper that she let Elliot pull up, his fingers trembling.

“Careful,” she whispered. “You’re shaking.”

He couldn’t meet her eyes.

“You do understand what’s happening tonight, don’t you?”

“I… I think so.”

“No. You feel it,” she said. “That’s what I love about you. You feel it in your chest. In your cock. That bitter sweet sense of loss.”

She turned to face him.

“You’re not afraid of him. You’re afraid of how much you want this.”

“Now the heels,” she murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed. She lifted one nylon sheathed foot. “Buckle me in.”

Elliot knelt and took her foot in both hands like a supplicant. The black stilettos were tall, the kind that made her calves flex just right, her ass look obscene. Jordan liked them. Claire knew it. Elliot knew it.

Once he finished the second shoe, she didn’t move. She let him stay kneeling in front of her.

“Look at me.”

He did.

“I want you to understand something,” she said, her tone lower now, her eyes locked on his. “Very soon, Jordan is going to walk through that door and claim me. In our home. In our bedroom. in our marital bed.”

She touched her neck, then slid her hand between her thighs over the dress.

“And I am going to let him.”

Elliot’s breath caught.

“I’m going to lie on our bed, in this dress you just zipped up,” she continued. “And then I’m going to take it off for him. Slowly. While you listen from the hallway. Or maybe the foot of the bed. I haven’t decided yet.”

She tilted her head. “And then I’m going to let him do anything he wants to me. For as long as he wants.”

She stood up then and practiced walking in front of the mirror in her heels. Elliot still kneeling on the floor. Every click of her stiletto sent a pulse through his chest.

She turned. “Does this look like something a wife wears for her husband?”

He shook his head. “No.”

She smiled. “Good boy.”

Then, as she leaned over to adjust her strap, she let him see. Just a flash — the swell of her breasts, the smooth skin below the lace. “He told me he wants to leave marks this time,” she said casually. “On my thighs. My chest. Maybe even my neck.”

Elliot closed his eyes. He didn’t want to imagine it. But his cock betrayed him.

She noticed.

“I hope you’re not planning to relieve yourself before he comes,” she said. “That wouldn’t be very respectful.”

He looked up, humiliated. “I wasn’t.”

She stood now, tall and perfect, walking past Elliot toward the vanity. The sway of her hips made his chest ache.

“I want you to watch me put on lipstick,” she said, picking up the tube. “The same color I wore when he first made me scream.”

He watched. She applied it with maddening slowness, staring into the mirror, catching his reflection behind her.

“I’m not doing this for you,” she added. “This isn’t some game where you get to fantasize and pretend it’s about us. It’s not. Not any more.”

She turned.

“It’s about him. It’s about me, giving myself to him. Over and over. You’re just… part of it. But a witness - no more.”

Elliot swallowed, his arousal and anguish crashing together in his stomach.

“I want you to smell me when I come back to you, after he's done with me.” she whispered. “I want you to see the bruises. The sweat. The mess.”

She walked toward him again, taking his hand, guiding it to the hem of her dress, lifting it just enough.

“No panties tonight,” she said softly. “He likes easy access.”

Then, cruelly sweet: “Would you like to kiss it goodbye?”

He nodded, barely able to breathe.

She lifted the dress again. “Then one last taste. Before your wife becomes his again.”

Still kneeling, Elliot lent forward, reverently, before his wife, and pushed his face into her freshly smooth, hairless pussy and kissed, breathing in her scent. After a minute she stepped back from Elliot.

“I think it's time you got ready babe.” she continued. “I've picked an outfit for you over there.” She glanced at the clothes she had selected draped over the back of a chair.

After getting ready he sat on the living room couch, dressed in plain clothes Claire had laid out for him — not quite formal, not casual, just… neutral. Bland. Sexless.

She walked into the room like a goddess.

She wore the tight black dress that she had never worn for him. Her makeup was sultry, eyes dark and lips glossy. Her hair curled slightly at the ends — soft, seductive.

She looked scandalous.

She looked sexual.

But not Elliot’s.

Jordan’s.

She caught him staring and tilted her head. “You’re flushed,” she said, crossing the room. “Are you nervous?”

He looked down. “Yes.”

“Don’t be. He already knows how weak you are.”

Then she leaned in and whispered, “And I’ll make sure he sees everything.”

20 Minutes before he was due to arrive time had slowed.

The apartment smelled like jasmine and lust. Candles flickered in the living room. Claire's lipstick was bold. Her eyes lined in black. She looked like a temptress. A reward.

Elliot sat, stiff and silent, every nerve on fire. She looked so calm. Like she’d done this a hundred times before. Like this was just… her life now.

His stomach churned.

He should say something. Should tell her he wasn’t ready, couldn’t take it. That he still loved her, still wanted to be her husband — his nerve almost abandoned him.

But then she turned to him.

“You’ll be good, won’t you?”

He nodded.

“Because this isn’t about you anymore.”

She crossed to him and sat on his lap, straddling him through his pants, her dress hiking up slightly, her eyes glittering. She pressed her mouth to his ear.

“I’m wet right now,” she whispered. “Thinking about how he’ll use me. How I’ll moan while you listen. Maybe watch.”

Elliot gasped softly, almost a sob.

“You’ll sit. You’ll watch. You’ll thank him.”

She licked his earlobe. “And maybe — maybe — I’ll let you clean me afterward.”

Just before 8 p.m. she stood before the door, checking herself one last time in the mirror.

He watched her with hollow eyes.

She looked radiant. Drenched in confidence.

She turned to him with a smirk.

“Remember,” she said softly, “he doesn’t just fuck me now. He owns me.”

The sound of footsteps in the hallway made his blood run cold.

Claire didn’t flinch.

She walked to the door slowly, deliberately. Her hips swayed as she moved, every inch of her vibrating with confidence and power.

Then—

Two Knocks at the door.

It felt like a verdict being passed.

Claire paused with her hand on the doorknob. She turned and looked at Elliot and smiled.

“I belong to him now,” she said softly.

Claire opened the door and welcomed her lover inside. She at least spared Elliot that humiliation. Jordan looked relaxed, radiating confidence. He wore a dark button-down, sleeves rolled up, forearms tanned, tattooed and veined. His smile was easy and his eyes lit up as Claire opened the door to him. They kissed. His kiss to Claire was slow, full, the kind that made her sigh softly into his mouth. Her hand lingered on his chest, like she was checking the beat of a new heart she’d come to trust. His hand resting on the curve of her lower back. She melted into it.

Elliot stood behind her, helpless to do anything but watch.

As the couple returned to the living room where Elliot stood watching. Jordan with one hand possessively on the small of Claire’s back. He looked comfortable in the space immediately. Too comfortable.

“Yo,” Jordan said coolly as he stepped inside, casting a quick glance at Elliot. “Been a while. You keeping busy?”

Elliot stood awkwardly, his hands fidgeting. “Uh, yeah… mostly work. Just, you know, staying out of the way.”

Jordan chuckled — low, amused, and clearly not threatened. He slid an arm around Claire’s waist, pulling her in close, one hand resting possessively just above the curve of her ass. “Yeah?” he said, eyes gleaming as he looked at Elliot. “Guess you already know how we’ve been keeping busy.”

Claire smirked, her body melting against Jordan’s side with easy familiarity, and rolled her eyes at Elliot.

Jordan laughed giving Claire a possessive squeeze that made her giggle. She didn’t even try to hide it — the chemistry between them was palpable, while Elliot stood there, the outsider in his own home.

Claire poured wine. They sat in the living room, wine glasses in hand. Jordan and Claire shared the couch. Elliot had taken the armchair — or rather, he’d been gently guided to it by Claire’s glance — giving them their space.

Claire’s legs were draped casually across Jordan’s lap, her nylon encased legs brushing his thigh. She wore the black silk dress Elliot had helped her into earlier, though now it hung open just enough to reveal the lace edge of her bra and the smooth inside of her thigh — freshly waxed, gleaming under the soft light. Elliot knew exactly how bare she was beneath.

Jordan lazily traced circles on her skin, his fingers possessive.

“Mmm,” Claire murmured, eyes half-lidded from the wine or from the way Jordan’s touch lingered a little longer with each pass. “This wine is lovely. Baby, you have to try it.” She offered her glass to Jordan, who took a sip without taking his eyes off her.

“Tastes better off your lips,” he said, and kissed her, slow and deep, right there in front of Elliot.

Elliot’s throat tightened. He took a sip of his own wine, trying to hide the flush rising up his neck.

Jordan broke the kiss and turned to him, smirking. “You alright over there, man? You look like you’re holding your breath.”

“I— I’m fine,” Elliot managed, though his voice betrayed him.

Claire turned her gaze to her husband, her lips still glistening. “You don’t have to pretend,” she said softly, running her fingers through Jordan’s hair. “We both know how much this turns you on. Watching me like this… knowing what’s coming.”

Jordan’s hand slipped higher, beneath the hem of her dress revealing her stocking tops. Claire let out a breathy laugh and nestled into his side. “It’s like he’s dreaming this,” she said, eyes never leaving Elliot’s. “But it’s real. I’m not just his anymore.”

Jordan grinned, spreading his legs a little wider, letting Claire shift and settle deeper into his lap. “You’re mine now,” he said, matter-of-fact. “He had his chance. But this?” He cupped her ass with both hands. “This belongs to me.”

Claire gave a little gasp of pleasure at the firm grip, then looked at Elliot with an almost tender expression. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to say anything. Just keep watching.”

She reached for her wine again, her dress gaping with the motion, and took a slow sip — all while Jordan’s hand stayed buried between her thighs.

The room was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the clink of glass and the sound of Claire’s breath quickening under her lover’s touch.

Elliot stared, arousal and shame twisting inside him like a knife.

As Jordan and Claire continued to get comfortable on the sofa, Elliot shifted in his seat.

"I'll just get on with the dinner while you two get.. reacquainted," he stuttered.

Claire called after him, teasing. "Don’t be jealous, sweetheart. let us know when the food is ready."

Jordan chuckled low in his throat. "Everyone brings something to the table. I guess for Elliot it's dinner."

Claire nodded, her hand finding Jordan’s. "He brings a lot."

The heat was palpable. Not overt. Not crude. Just thick, simmering beneath every word.

Elliot didn’t speak as he gulped back the rest of his wine and made a retreat to the kitchen.

Shortly after plating up the food, Elliot stood by the kitchen counter, trying not to tremble as he poured three glasses of wine. He watched them kiss across from him on the sofa — long, slow, wet — until Jordan finally looked over Claire’s shoulder and met his eyes.

“Smells good,” Jordan said, gesturing toward the dining table. “You cook?”

Elliot nodded. “Yes. I, uh… hope it’s okay.”

Jordan smirked, sliding a possessive hand around Claire’s waist. “You always this eager to please when your wife’s boyfriend comes over?”

Claire laughed — a new kind of laugh. Carefree. Shameless.

Dinner passed in a strange, unbearable quiet. Jordan dominated the space without effort, one arm always touching Claire, his foot sliding between hers beneath the table. Elliot served them both — steak, roasted potatoes, wine poured and topped up without needing to be asked. He barely touched his own plate.

After dinner, things shifted. Claire didn’t pretend.

They moved back to the sitting room. Jordan stretched out on the couch. Claire curled up beside him, legs over his lap. Her dress had slipped up, and she didn’t bother pulling it back down. She curled into Jordan completely now, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on his chest through his shirt. Jordan’s hand rested on her thigh, just under the hem of her dress. Possessive. Natural.

Elliot tried not to stare, but he couldn’t help it. Every inch of him buzzing with helpless arousal and quiet grief.

"You okay there sweetheart?" Claire asked, glancing over with a mischievous smile.

He nodded.

"Good. Because Jordan will be staying over tonight. I think you should take the guest room later. Give us some privacy. What do you think?"

Elliot blinked. His mouth opened. Closed. Like he was going to protest before conceding defeat and uttering, "Of course."

“You’ve trained him well,” Jordan said, glancing toward Elliot. “Shame he can’t fuck you like he cooks.”

Claire blushed — but she didn’t disagree. Instead, she let her hand drift down Jordan’s chest, teasing the edge of his waistband.

“You have no idea,” she purred, eyes half-lidded. “I’ve tried to be patient with him. But now that I’ve had you…”

She leaned in, whispering something into Jordan’s ear that made him laugh out loud — a deep, confident, possessive sound that made Elliot’s gut twist.

And then came the moment Elliot knew was coming.

“She’s been wet all night,” Jordan said, casually, placing his hand on Claire’s bare thigh. “You knew that, didn’t you?”

Elliot didn’t answer as Jordan's hand went under Claire's skirt and blatantly started working into her cunt.

Claire bit her lip and looked at her husband. “I want him to see.”

Jordan turned to her, approving. “You sure?”

She nodded. “I want him to see what I am now. What I need.”

“Come on,” Jordan said, standing. “Time we all got comfortable.”

Jordan stood. He took Claire’s hand and looked at Elliot. “You’re gonna want a good view.” he said glancing across the room.

They led Elliot down the hallway — to the bedroom that had once been his and Claire’s. Jordan pushed the door open and pointed to the chair. “Sit.”

Elliot’s throat dried instantly. His knees felt like water. But he obeyed.

The chair sat three feet from the bed. Just far enough to be useless. Just close enough to see everything.

Claire undressed slowly, deliberately, putting on a show for both men — but her eyes never left Jordan. Her nipples were already stiff, her thighs glistening with arousal. She was wet just from the anticipation of being taken. Owned.

Jordan sat on the edge of the bed, watching like a man admiring his property. Relaxed. Smug. Possessive. He didn’t need to touch her yet — she was already his.

He stripped without ceremony, never breaking eye contact with Claire. When his boxers dropped, Elliot inhaled sharply, almost choking on the sight.

He’d known Jordan was big. But this? This was pornographic. It wasn’t just large — it was monstrous. Thick, heavy, veined like something bred to ruin. Claire’s breath hitched the moment it sprang free, her body instinctively leaning toward it like it had its own gravity.

Elliot’s stomach twisted. Shame, awe, envy — it all collided inside him.

No wonder.

No wonder she moaned the way she did. No wonder she surrendered so easily. That cock wasn’t just bigger — it was a weapon. A promise of obliteration.

And in that moment, Elliot knew.

He’d never had a chance.

Elliot sat down, silent. Powerless. Hard. He couldn’t move. He didn’t want to blink.

When Claire crawled onto Jordan’s lap, she looked at Elliot with a look he’d never seen before — not pity, not cruelty. Indifference. She was gone. Drenched in lust. Hungry only for the man beneath her.

She took his cock in both hands and moaned. Even now, after everything, his size made her tremble. She reached for him, licking her lips, stroking his massive cock like it was sacred. “I’ve missed this. You don’t know how badly.” she moaned. “I need you so deep, baby. Ruin me.”

And he did.

Jordan pulled Claire onto the bed like she weighed nothing. He didn’t bother teasing her. There was no need. She was already soaked. Claire moaned as his fingers found her, loud and unfiltered, her legs parting wide without shame. He knelt between them and made her scream on his mouth, eating her like a starving man while Elliot sat powerless, his cock painfully hard in his pants.

“God—Jordan—fuck—fuck,” Claire sobbed. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

He didn’t.

He kept eating her like it was the only thing he’d ever learned to do — like a man starving for her taste, her heat, her submission.

She came hard. Her thighs clamped around his head, her hips jerking uncontrollably, her voice a shattered whimper as the orgasm tore through her.

Jordan pulled back only when she collapsed backward onto the bed, trembling.

He knealt back, and yanked at his cock: thick, veined, heavy. In one fluid movement Jordan pushed her legs back towards her chest and hooked them over his shoulders, with him above her. He lined himself up with her slick entrance as she gaped for him and paused — just long enough to glance at Elliot.

“You ready to watch your wife get ruined again?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

He slammed into her in one savage thrust.

Claire’s scream was animal — ragged and broken. Her hands clawing at his back, hips lifting to meet every primal stroke.

Jordan pinned her wrists and continued forcing himself inside her in steady brutal thrusts that made Claire cry out — raw, loud, unfiltered. Elliot had never heard her sound like that before. Never made her sound like that. She disentangled herself and wrapped her legs around Jordan's back and begged him not to stop, begged him to go harder, deeper, to take it all — and he did. She gasped — not like it hurt, but like she couldn’t quite believe she was taking him again.

Elliot’s breath caught. Her face twisted in pleasure. She clung to Jordan’s shoulders like she was being swept away.

“Oh my god,” she whimpered. “You fill me so fucking deep.”

Jordan grunted, gripping her hips, thrusting up into her — hard, brutal, rhythmic. The sounds of flesh and slick heat filled the room. The bed creaked beneath them. Claire's moans quickly became cries, then screams once again.

Each thrust shook the bed, shook the walls, shook Elliot to his core. He watched as Claire’s body arched, her toes curling, her voice breaking into screams of pleasure. “Oh my god! Yes, yes! Fuck, Jordan! Yes!”

“Tell him,” Jordan growled. “Tell him who owns this pussy now.”

“You do!” she screamed. “You own it! It’s yours, baby. I’m yours!”

Jordan pulled out and flipped her over like a toy, slamming back into her from behind, hand on her throat, forcing her to look toward her husband — toward Elliot.

“You watching this?” Jordan called out, grinning through gritted teeth. “You seeing what she looks like when she’s really fucked?”

Claire was delirious, her eyes glassy, her voice hoarse from moaning. “He needs to see it,” she gasped. “He needs to see how a real man fucks me.”

He pounded into her like she was nothing but a hole for him to own — fast, deep, primal. The bed slammed into the wall with each stroke, echoing through the room like a drumbeat of dominance.

Jordan reached around and rubbed her clit, fast and cruel, until she broke.

Claire came screaming — body shaking, breath stolen, collapsing forward on the sheets as Jordan kept pounding into her. Her sobbing moans echoed down the hall. But Jordan didn’t stop. Not after the first orgasm. Or the second. Or the third.

He made her beg for every one. And Elliot sat there, caged in his own agony, hand between his thighs, rubbing himself through his pants, unable to look away.

Eventually, Jordan pulled out, grabbed Claire by the hair, and dragged her back into his lap, straddling him. She sank down onto his cock with a broken moan, her body slack, ruined, completely given.

“She’s mine now,” Jordan said. “You see it, don’t you?”

Elliot nodded. Trembling. Silent. Tears in his eyes.

Claire locked eyes with him from Jordan’s lap. Her mascara smeared, her thighs still twitching. And she smiled.

She had never looked more alive.

Elliot watched, stunned. She had never made those sounds with him. Never moved like that. Never surrendered so completely — like she needed to be taken, used, filled.

He’d never seen her eyes roll back like that. Never seen her legs shake just from being held in place. Never seen her drool from orgasm.

Jordan held nothing back. He fucked her like she was his — hard, deep, rough — slapping her ass, pulling her hair, whispering filth into her ear that made her sob with arousal.

“You see her?” Jordan called out, not breaking rhythm. “Look at how wet she is. Look at how many times she’s cum already. That pussy doesn’t even remember your name.”

Elliot nodded, glassy-eyed. His hand drifted between his thighs. He couldn’t help it.

Claire came again, convulsing on Jordan’s cock, clinging to him as he growled through clenched teeth. “That’s it,” he muttered. “Fucking take it. Take all of it.”

“Who’s pussy is this?” he growled against her ear.

“Yours!” Claire gasped. “Yours, yours, yours—”

“Say it louder. Make sure he hears.”

“It’s yours, Jordan!” she cried. “You own me!”

Jordan grunted and shifted, pulling her legs up over his shoulders once more, driving deeper — brutal, endless.

Claire’s hands slapped at the sheets, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as another orgasm hit her — a tidal wave that left her twitching and drenched.

Jordan didn’t stop. He chased his climax with relentless force, hips slamming into her soaked heat as she convulsed beneath him.

He slammed up into her one last time, with a groan that sounded like victory, as he emptied himself - long and hard, deep inside filling her with every drop.

Claire collapsed catatonic, panting, glowing, her whole body trembling.

And then she looked at Elliot. Catching her breath she motioned to her husband.

“Come here,” she whispered. “Clean me. He wants to watch you taste it.”

Elliot knelt between her thighs without a word.

The scent hit him first — her, and Jordan, and the sweat of their sex. His hands trembled as he leaned in, tongue lapping delicately at her ruined, gaping slit. She gasped as he touched her. Jordan watched, hands behind his head, smiling like a god surveying his conquest.

Elliot tasted it all. Claire moaned and tugged on his hair, grinding herself against his face as he licked every drop from her swollen folds. When he looked up, dazed, his lips wet, Claire pulled him in and kissed his forehead like a pet.

“You did good, baby,” she murmured. “Now go sleep in the guest room. We’re not done yet.”

Jordan chuckled. “Hope the walls are thick.”

Elliot lay in the dark, hard and aching, his pillow damp with sweat and tears. Through the wall, he could hear Claire again — crying out Jordan’s name, sobbing as he took her a second time. Then a third.

Every thrust shook the walls. Every scream of ecstasy marked another line Elliot could never cross.

And somewhere deep inside, Elliot finally understood:

She wasn’t his anymore.

She was theirs.

But mostly — she was Jordan’s.

And she didn’t want it any other way.

[chastity_boi]

we'll see how things pan out. It's taken me 36 chapters for Elliot just to witness his wife getting railed But again appreciate all comments and observations and quite flattered at how deeply people are analyzing and thinking about this dynamic I'm putting out there.

[happystrife]

Amazing chapter. you are a genius. Great work.

[Tire_Kicker]

Great writing! Gems like this are few and far between, the character development has been superb. As is the case with most stories, at some point the reader starts to hope something happens or is coming. I was thrilled to see the author request reader input so here goes.

One can't help but feel sympathetic for Elliot's situation, I suspect it will continue on this trajectory for some time. Perhaps at a later juncture when the rutting beasts are copulating and Elliot is doing Jordan's laundry, a ray of sunshine walks in and can't help but ask if he's OK?

Elliot looks up to see one of the most beautiful women he's ever seen in his life. A petite Asian/Latino with a smile that makes him realize that he still has a heart and what's left of his soul. They connect and Claire and Jordan can't help but notice that something has changed.

Claire wants him back! Does he still want her?

I've always hoped for a story where the Cuck wins...

Am I the only one?

[thesvs_09]

I've always hoped for a story where the Cuck wins...

No, you are not the only one. I also want people (including the cuck) to achieve what they desire..
But what does cuck actually want ? This is where conventional win-lose scenarios starting to dissolve. But yes, I would love to see even at the deep end of tunnel, there is a light of love and care for our cuck. Fingers crossed and waiting for many quick updates!